


wait.

by sutera



Series: Ignoct Week 2018 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (minor tho klajfs), Bad Puns, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Come Sharing, Edgeplay, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M, adrenaline-fuelled kisses, death tag for you-know-who fml alskjf, fgjkgjkdjgj god i didn't realize how many kinks i hit, includes a few nods to episode ignis wink wonk, like one (1) blow job, okay nvm there is now two (2) bjs, thE PORN IS ONLY LIKE. AT MOST A FEW PARAS??? fml lkajkfj, what is going on with this fic anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sutera/pseuds/sutera
Summary: Just a few kisses stolen out of many and the inevitable last at the end.





	wait.

**Author's Note:**

> have... a thing... wow it got away from me i cannot believe kljasf i wAS AIMING FOR SOFT INNOCENT KISSES AND THEN. geSTURES @ TAGS LKJASF i hope this still adheres to the prompt lmAO LKAMSf

It’s something like wonder when they first kiss.

Simple and sweet and quick, because they’re only just started out on their journey and everything’s changing: the environment, the way they interact, their dynamic. Or maybe it’s always been like this and they’ve only just realized it with the way constant danger presses on them.

Either way, it happens during a battle and they’re all high on adrenaline, sweating and bleeding with minor wounds, and as soon as Ignis straightens up, panting from the excursion, he turns and Noct is suddenly there with eyes intent and focused before his lips are pressed against Ignis’ own.

It’s a little messy. Noct’s off-course, nearly having just kissed the corner of Ignis’ lips, which Ignis would not entirely be _unhappy_ with since it is contact all the same, but such an action endears him to Noct anyway because of how… _Noct_ this is. Impulsive in desire, unrestrained, taking who he wants. _If_ Ignis is who he wants. And Ignis’ fingers furl into his palm because he doesn’t know what to _think_ at first, can only really stand there in shocked acceptance, mouth slightly open in the first place and he’s _sure_ he can taste a bit of salty sweat, dripped from Noct’s face onto his lips and then pressed— _again_ , surprisingly—onto _Ignis’_ lips.

Like a three-step process, Ignis can _see_ it unfolding before his eyes: first, Noct, his gaze clearing from the haze of adrenaline that’d overtaken him, stepping back like he’d been burned from a badly thrown Firaga spell; second, the _others_ , Prompto’s jaw dropping at the corner of his vision and Gladio’s behind him, shaking his head, and _third_ ——

Well, _third_ is Noct raising his hands, mouth opening to perhaps wildly _deny_ what he’s done but Ignis has stepped forward far too fast for him to voice any protests and he’s kissing him with quieter intent and a far more precise aim.

“Hahahaha! You—oh, _guys_ , come on! Not here! Really?!” Prompto’s words are a fading thing, echoing in the background, and Ignis spares a confused thought towards whether the blonde’s laughter is cheering him on or not considering the following words.

But then Noct’s pressing his body closer to Ignis’ own and gloved fingers are curling up among dark strands and, yes _really_ , Prompto, they’ll do this right here. Especially with the way Noct’s meshing his lips against Ignis’ own desperately. Especially when Noct makes a little noise like he’s been wanting this for a while.

Gods, Ignis is lost.

He vaguely hears Gladio sigh. He assumes they’ll be having words later.

* * *

 

It’s something like need the sixteenth time they kiss.

He and Gladio have had words, yes, and Noct had argued he wouldn’t let this get in the way of his duty. Ignis had concerns as well but they’re quite easily swept away by whatever Noct says because _anything for Noct_ , his mind is firmly set on, _everything for Noct_. He’s his prince, his friend, his… reason. His desire, his resolve, his flame. The one who aggravates him, the one who worries him, the one who makes him laugh, the one who can sooth him. The only one who can do that, all at once, and it happens when Noct is clambering on top of him in the bushes not far from the campsite.

“We’ve an early start,” Ignis groans out, half-parts reluctant, half-parts _enthused_. “Noct, you _know_ we should be heading to bed now—!”

“Alright, but,” Noct starts flippantly, speaking between kisses, “I kinda wanna enjoy my, y’know, _boyfriend_ a little bit here.”

 _Boyfriend_ , Noct said, and Ignis is immediately surrendered by the term and simultaneously feels _foolish_ because he never did consider them an item just yet. It was just a rollercoaster of feeling and want and _needing_ to be close to Noct and, perhaps, a larger part _denial_ that everything that has happened so far has truly _happened_. But then Noct’s stating it so clearly now and Ignis hates that he’s overthought everything, as always, but Noct’s lips are on his own again and he’s lost.

He can taste the grilled wild barramundi, one of Noct’s _favourites_ and he receives a vivid flash of memory about the numerous complaints from Prompto and Gladio that he’s been only cooking Noct’s favourite since they’d gotten together. It’s quite shameless, however, since he enjoys the constant feeling of satisfaction from Noct completely finishing his plate and tasting it on his tongue every time they disappear to kiss. Now, he feels Noct exploring his own mouth with tantalizing strokes across his lip, across his own tongue, before it withdraws and Noct is nosing at his chin, his neck, his pulse and lavishing kisses _there_ before——

A whimper escapes Ignis when Noct’s hips shift to the side, instead straddling Ignis’ thigh, and his hips buck up involuntarily when a hand palms at his crotch.

“Gods, Specs,” Noct breathes out with a low laugh; his eyes are dark with desire and Ignis feels his mouth dry in anticipation. “Just… _gods_. You’re really, uh—…” He doesn’t continue but Ignis can guess: can guess in the way Noct instead decides to unbutton Ignis’ pants, can guess as Noct slips his cock out, sweeps at the pre-ejaculate gathering at the slit.

Can guess when Noct uses that to start a slow, pumping rhythm that his Ignis’ fingers clawing at the grass in a vain attempt for stability.

“Need lube,” Noct mutters not a moment into it, pausing despite Ignis’ quiet gasps. “You, uh, you got any?”

“Not entirely,” Ignis responds, voice strained. He’s hard and leaking and all of this is just from kissing Noct and a few jerks of the prince’s wrist. “I may be prepared for many things but making out amidst foliage certainly isn’t it.”

“Yeah, well, got excited.” Noct lets out a laugh before he gives a small shrug. “Since there’s nothing else—,” he cuts himself off, shuffles back and, before Ignis can say a word, envelopes Ignis’ exposed cock with his mouth.

A choked gasp escapes Ignis and he’s arching his back at the sensation, attempting to keep his hips from bucking but, _gods_ , Noct’s somehow so _good_ at this, or perhaps Ignis has higher sensitivity and his lack of experience attributes to this; he’s twitching under Noct, _near_ -writhing, and Noct’s eyes are on him, dark with intent, and Ignis is _moaning_ , blathering despite not being quite able to string together a sensible thought.

“B-bloody hell, Noct— _Noct_ , you— _there_ —!” And as the minutes crawl by, as he slowly loses himself in the pleasure, he’s unable to take his eyes off Noct and, as such, he’s the only one that notices the slightest movement on the prince’s shoulder. Some part of him acknowledges that, yes, Noct’s quite _disgusted_ by those things but at the same time his pleasure is overwhelming and the fact that it’s Noct only _adds_ to everything he’s experiencing——

But then. Yes. Of course. His loyalty wins out in the end. He will sacrifice this pleasure if it means securing Noct’s wellbeing.

“W-wait!” he gasps out and Noct draws back immediately, brows furrowing in immediate concern.

“What? Did I do something wrong? ‘S my first time so I thought—maybe I was—I mean, the _sounds_ you were making, _gods_ , Specs,” Noct says, all in a hurry, nervous and amazing all at once.

Ignis feels the high wilting away and he wants Noct _back_ so he quickly nods his head towards the worry. “O-on your shoulder, Noct. There’s an insect.”

“An—?” Noct turns his head. Quickly flicks the offending critter away. His gaze turns back to Ignis, disbelief written all over flushed features, highlighted only by the distant crackle of their campfire and the moon above. “An _insect_ , Iggy? Really? You think I’d,”—and here comes the guffaws now; Noct’s doubled over laughing in seconds—“Specs, c’mon, did you really just stop me ‘cause I’d get a little squeamish about the bug on my shoulder? _Really_?”

Ignis feels a flush rising up his neck. “I thought it would be a discomfort,” he says defensively, quietly.

Noct goes into another fit of laugher. “Y-yeah! Definitely a dis _cum_ fort.” He laughs again.

Ignis’ head falls back against the ground, unable to say anything, and lets out a groan instead. Well, his humour with puns has certainly came back to haunt him.

Noct pauses and Ignis hears him shift. “Haha, alright. That reminded me.” Then his mouth is on Ignis’ cock and his world blanks out once more.

* * *

 

It’s something like desperation the seventy-ninth time they kiss.

It’s the second day after Noct has woken and Ignis doesn’t know whether his presence would hurt the prince more if he was around or not. Whatever the case, Ignis knows he _couldn’t_ be that far away, not from Noct while he’s grieving, and so he’s a solitary figure standing outside Noct’s room, waiting. Just waiting.

He thinks he hears footsteps before the door opens. He’s fairly sure it’s Noct that grabs his shirt, next, as he pulls Ignis into the room and slams the door shut behind them. He stumbles for a moment before familiar hands right him, station at his hips, before lips claim his own. Ignis forces himself to stay still, reeling at the sensation and the abrupt noises, because he’s very much unused to his lack of sight, unused to people manhandling him, unused to people _guiding_ him without him actually _seeing_ it.

But, gods, this is _Noct_. Noct, who just lost Luna. Noct, who has felt fresh the burdens of his crown anew. Ignis reaches out, has to feel around just a tad to find the edges, and encircles Noct in his arms.

“Noct,” he whispers, gentle and caring and sad all at once. He’s full of feelings for his prince. He’s full of emotions he cannot even begin to express. He merely… he merely wishes to be there for him. “Noct, I _know_.”

It breaks him, the way Noct, when Ignis pushes him back just a little to give them both space, struggles weakly in his arms. “You _know_?!” Noct snaps out, voice trembling and held together by a thin and frayed wire, teetering on the edge of unravelling completely. “What do you know, Ignis?! The only thing you know is that—is that Luna is dead and you’re—you’re——!”

 _You’re blind_ , Ignis knows Noct wants to say, but maybe the sentence itself is already too heavy in the air. And he already knows far more than what Noct thinks. Far more than what he _wishes_ to know. He doesn’t think Noct could take it if he’s seen what Ignis has seen.

Gods, Ignis doesn’t think he’s taking it well himself. But he’ll be strong. He must remain strong. For Noct.

At least Noct is expressing himself. At least he’s allowing himself to _feel_ and Ignis is _glad_ for that, glad for the anger and the sorrow Noct is currently hurling at him because, at the very least, the prince has allowed him to hear this, has allowed Ignis to comfort him. _Share the load_ , Ignis had said, and Noct is doing it.

Noct is choking up on his words now, Ignis hears, too turbulent to speak properly and, gently, Ignis trails his touch up and grasps the man on either side of his jaw. Thumbs rest on the hollows of Noct’s cheeks.

“Noct,” he says quietly, “I’m here for you, should you so need me. Always. It will never be your fault that Lady Lunafreya died, nor will it ever be your fault that I lost my vision.” _All for you_ , Ignis adds silently, in his mind, though he knows Noct won’t like hearing that. Not now. Not when everything that has been lost has been _for_ him already.

Then there’s a sharp intake of breath, the shift of Noct leaning forward guessing by the soft breath hitting his nose, and then Noct’s hands are cupping his cheeks in return and his lips are gently pressed on his own once more.

Noct’s lips taste salty—from _tears,_ Ignis realizes, with a small jolt of shame for not knowing it—and they tremble, as well, along with the rest of the prince’s shaking frame. Suppressed sobs, Ignis thinks, and he thinks his heart splits again, ruptured from the pure ache he feels from wishing he could do something to stop Noct’s pain but helpless to do so. And then Noct’s kissing him, again and again, desperation marring whatever pleasure that could be derived from this, and so slowly does Ignis drop his hands, running them along Noct’s arms, before resting at his wrists.

“Noct,” he whispers, and the prince pauses against his lips, panting. “I’m so sorry.”

Noct sucks in a shuddering breath before leaning his forehead against Ignis’ own.

Then Noct starts sobbing and Ignis holds him tightly.

“Th-they _sacrificed_ —Luna’s _dead_ —!” Noct gasps out between tears and he’s sinking to the floor, Ignis willingly following him. “I don’t—why is it _like_ th-this?! Who gets to—to decide this?! All of this?!” He’s wheezing now, breathing too fast, and Ignis feels a flash of alarm upon recognizing the state.

“Breathe, Noct, slowly,” he says calmly and soothingly; his heart’s about to pound out of his chest. “Just breathe.” Hands smooth down the line of Noct’s back and he presses a kiss to Noct’s forehead before guiding the prince’s head into the crook of his neck. Slowly, quietly, he begins to rock.

Noct begins to calm down after a moment. His fingers are bunched up among the materials of Ignis’ shirt. “I am,” he whispers, voice muffled against Ignis’ skin. “I am.”

 _I’m so sorry_ , he wishes to repeat, because he remembers the vision he had, remembers the way an older Noct’s face screwed up in pain as each Royal Arm pierced him, remembers the way Noct fell back into the void, shimmering and disappearing into nothing. Dead.

Dead.

He holds Noct tighter and prays the prince does not see the tears of his own.

* * *

 

It’s something like yearning when their two-hundredth kiss is delayed.

It feels like eternity when they’re running towards the Crystal, when Ignis’ lungs feel as if they’re about to burst, when he thinks that, maybe, when they encounter Ardyn he bears the same black ichor that ran from his eyes and his mouth from the vision Ignis saw, judging from the startled gasps Gladio and Prompto give. When Ardyn leaves them with the information that Noct has disappeared.

When Ignis knows that it’s the beginning of the end.

He stays motionless for but a moment. The vision flashes in his mind once more. Noct, perhaps a decade older, facing the Usurper in what seems to be the afterlife. Noct, ultimately paying the blood price.

He thinks a snarl pulls at his lips. He tilts his head down so the others cannot catch it. Lets his cold fury and anger and grief shake and tremble and coalesce in the fist that curls up at his side. He doesn’t let it go.

“What… do we do now?” Prompto asks, his voice small and lost and every bit as shattered as Ignis feels.

“Iggy?” Gladio looks to him for answers he cannot explain.

Ignis immediately smooths his expression out to impassivity, smooths over his turbulent emotions; he needs to move on. He needs to help prepare everything for the Pri—for the _King’s_ return.

“We wait,” he responds quietly.

* * *

 

He does wait.

It _is_ an eternity and the decade comes and goes with all it’s trials and tribulations. It leaves freshly-made scars on his skin and not just from the daemons but by his own hand, inexperienced as he was attempting to train without one of his senses. It leaves him yearning for Noct’s voice, his touch, his lips; whispers that were soothing against an evening flush, words that dragged more than a few handfuls of mirth from his lips. It leaves him empty inside and near-despair, because the day Noct comes back is the day his life truly ends.

Ignis thinks he hates it. He does hate it.

Darkness is his constant companion no matter how much the others are there for him. It spins tales of his life after everything happens, it shows him again and again visions of his King falling to the Prophecy, it shows him that he must be strong even in this time of absent hope, no matter how much he wishes to fall to the preying hands of daemons, to the growing doubts that this nightmare will never end.

Until it does end. And Ignis wonders whether he should celebrate or cry.

They say their greetings and it’s almost like old times without the weight of a decade between them. Then Noctis pulls Ignis aside and to a spare room and he’s whispering his own private greetings to him, pressing them against Ignis’ closed eyes, the corner of his lips, his nose. Ignis manages a smile for him and holds him tightly, presses his own kisses against the line of Noct’s jaw, his forehead, and, finally, his lips.

He cannot see Noct but he does pull the vision lingering at the edges of his mind. Not of Noct dying but he builds _from_ that, instead constructs a mental image of his smile, as sweet and as amazing as the last time Ignis laid his eyes on it, and his passion grows with each second, mesmerized with the very thought, hands pulling desperately at Noct’s clothes and, gods, Noct matches his desire back, relenting as Ignis pushes forward and they’re tumbling onto the bed in a mess of limbs, kissing and touching and entangling their arms and legs _further_ ——

Their clothes dangle half-off their shoulders, Noct’s own pants are slipping down his hips, and they’re not quite there yet, Ignis can tell it all with explorative hands, but _gods_ has Ignis wanted for so long and he’s gripping at Noct’s chest and pushing him back fully onto the bed, breathing hard.

“Jeez, Specs,” he whispers, and Ignis wants to _see_ him so badly. _So_ badly. Wants to see the beard that has given him burn across his cheeks, wants to see the hair that Ignis can smooth over and curl fingers into so easily now, wants to see the broader torso that Ignis leans over. Gods. He _wants_. But he knows he’ll never get it. It shows in his face, perhaps _too_ obviously because Noct says, “you’ve missed me,” so quietly and Ignis thinks it’s such a ridiculous statement that he wants to cry.

He doesn’t, though, he’s sure. But then there’s hot tracks leading down his cheeks and he’s _bawling_ all of a sudden, wheezing with the attempt to _breathe_ because, gods, it’s been so _difficult_ without Noct here. It’s been so difficult to hold onto hope and he doesn’t know if Noct can forgive him for almost slipping, for knowing all along that——

“I’m sorry, Iggy,” Noct’s whispering into his ear, and his palm rubs against his back soothingly. “I left you and I can’t forgive myself for doing that…!” Noct’s voices hitches and Ignis shakes his head, almost wildly.

“No, Majesty, I’m—I must ask _your_ forgiveness. I’ve... there were a few times that I’d lost faith, that I didn’t believe you’d come back and yet here you are and I’ve been—!” Ignis _trembles_ , immediately undone by the overwhelming regret and self-hatred in Noct’s tone. It throws him because it’s _because of him_ that Noct feels that way and Ignis is left spiralling at the thought and it feels like he’s lost his vision anew; he’s floundering like he’d been back then, only able to rely on the ability to hear and touch and speak and smell, never sight, never able to see Noct _again_ , never able to serve him quite the right way and gods, he thought he’d come to terms with this. Or perhaps something else weighs so heavily on his mind that he cannot forget. Something so terrible and horrible that he—that he doesn’t think he can keep in quite much longer——

“You’re going to _die_ ,” Ignis gasps out, fingers clenched hard in the fabric of Noct’s shirt, and he shudders. Tries to calm himself. Tries to _breathe_ , to regain focus and clarity, because as always with Noct, he seems to lose everything at once; Noct makes him unravel so _easily_ —

Noct stiffens against his touch. He’s angry, Ignis thinks, or perhaps shocked. “How do you... what do you know?” Noct asks and his voice is far too quiet for Ignis to get a true read on.

“About the Prophecy,” Ignis replies, gathering himself together with a tapestry of feigned strength. He’s just as quiet, not daring to break the terse air. “About the blood price. About you, dying to fulfil it.”

“The Chosen King,” Noct murmurs, and Ignis hears a sigh escape him. “I’ve made my peace with it, Iggy, and I know why it has to happen. And it’s... it’s unfair.” Noct’s voice shakes and Ignis shifts his weight to the side to fall beside him. Noct curls up to him and Ignis’ arms encircle him, tightly and securely and protectively. “Gods, Ignis, it’s not _fair_.”

And that’s what Ignis expects. Noct doesn’t allow himself to cry but, at the very least, the admittance is enough and Ignis inhales, staunching the sobs threatening to escape him. He needs to regain his composure. Gods, out of them all, Noct has it worse. He’s always had it worse.

“Forgive me, Noct,” Ignis whispers, resting his chin atop Noct’s head. “I... should have done something. The visions were sent to _me_ , were they not? They were sent to me and yet I’ve not... accomplished a single thing with them; what use _was_ I?” Regrets soars in his heart and he _aches_ all over again, at actions he’s not taken, and it _isn’t enough_.

There’s movement. Noct’s pulling away from him to look at him, though Ignis can only guess. “What are you saying? There’s nothing you could’ve done, Ignis. I mean, we’ve got _gods_ saying this and that—?”

“And I had the Ring of the Lucii.” The remark comes clear yet quiet, cutting Noct off in the middle of his sentence, and there’s a sharp intake of breath from the other. For such a very brief moment, Ignis is glad he cannot see Noct. He doesn’t think he could bear to witness whatever expression may lay on his face.

“You—that doesn’t—...!” Noct starts, pauses; it’s in the small moment of silence Ignis guesses Noct realizes what _truly_ happened back in Altissia. He waits for the rebuke. “You put on the Ring,” Noct finally states, voice devoid of emotion. “That’s why you lost your sight. _You put on the Ring_ , Ignis, you _idiot_ —!”

“Would that I’d sacrificed my life for yours!” Ignis hisses out, unable to bear _not_ voicing it, and Noct pulls back from him abruptly. Ignis doesn’t know what his expression is but he can guess it. He can imagine the offense pulling at his brows and the angst flattening the lines of his lips, bordering towards a scowl. He can imagine Noct’s fists clenching and, not a moment later, he hears Noct shift. The bed dips. Noct’s left it.

Silence descends. Ignis dares not breath. He thinks catches Noct’s own harsh pants in the quietude.

“Ignis,” Noct finally says, quiet only because Ignis guesses he must be facing away from him.

“Majesty.” Ignis bows his head.

A pause, then, “ _Specs_.” Noct sounds helpless now.

Ignis cannot say anything for a moment either. “Noct,” he acknowledges softly.

He can hear Noct swallow. The breathing calms. “Not you,” the king says, firmer now. “Not _you_.”

“Not you either,” Ignis responds, resolve in his tone.

Noct chokes out a laugh. “We’re doomed, huh?”

Something in Ignis breaks just a little. A lot. A fist curls tightly against his side. He tries not to grimace. Then he forces himself to relax. This is an inevitability, now. What he’s done, what Noct’s done, it’s all in the past. It cannot change. There’s no point in regretting it. There’s only now left available to them, this singular moment in time, and Ignis doesn’t want to spend it thinking about what he could have done. Gods know he’s done enough of it and lingering further on regret would only drag them both down.

He holds out his arms, lifts his chin, and lets a smile tainted by sorrow curve across his lips.

Noct makes a noise, something like a despairing yet desperate whine, before Ignis hears the stumbled steps and Noct’s falling into his arms. Kisses are pressed against his jaw and Ignis angles his face to meet those lips fully; their mouths mesh together and they’re both needy, _aching_ , just a few minutes in and Ignis swallows the moans Noct makes against him. He’s falling back, Noct’s pushing him, but Ignis pushes _him_ over and reverses their positions. He’s straddling Noct’s hip again.

Shimmying down, hands coax Noct to take off his shirt and his pants, and Ignis bats away the silent touch to his own clothes. Not tonight. Tonight is about loving Noct. Tonight is about letting him go without regrets.

Tonight is about giving him a memory he will carry to his death.

“I love you, Noct,” Ignis whispers. He’s unable to see the wonderful man beneath him but he can still touch, he can still feel, and so he nudges Noct’s legs apart with a hand and sits between them.

“I love you, Specs, Iggy,” Noct breathes out, and inhales sharply when Ignis’ thigh nudges his crotch. “Please,” Noct says, after a moment of _something_ ; Ignis isn’t quite sure, but he’s certain of what Noct is silently asking for and so he obliges.

He leans down and starts to lavish kisses across the plain of Noct’s chest, starts to tongue across sensitive scars, starts to sneak a hand between them to grasp at Noct’s cock and _pump_.

Then he pauses.

“N-need lube?” Noct says; underneath the tremble of his tone is an underlying amusement for the nostalgic words.

Ignis shakes his head, his smile turning wry. “I’ve come prepared this time.” He fishes it out in a moment from his pocket—he _learns_ , after all, especially when it comes to Noct—and squirts a generous amount before returning to his previous ministrations of jerking Noct’s cock.

In no time, Noct’s gasping beneath him, his body twitching in response to Ignis’ touch, and there’s a particularly loud moan when he tongues over the scar Ignis recalls being received from a Magitek’s spear, a motion made in tandem with a pull of Noct’s length. Lips brush against the right nub and Ignis gives a tentative lick before brushing teeth gently over it. He’s rewarded with a whimper.

Seconds turn into minutes. Many minutes. Ignis wants it to continue for a very long time so that it seems like this night will never end. So much so that whenever he hears Noct start gasping faster with Ignis’ name escaping his lips like a prayer, Ignis pauses in his movements long enough to hear the soft cry of distress and feel the desperate pushes of his hips up into Ignis’ touch. But there’s not enough friction for Noct to release. Not yet.

Noct stills again, panting, and Ignis starts the cycle again. And again. Bringing him to the edge and letting him come back on his own.

“Iggy—,” Noct breathes out; his voice is thick with arousal and Ignis thinks he hears a sob accompany his name. He wouldn’t be surprised. With the noises Noct has been making, it seems to teeter on _begging_ , and Ignis knows he must oblige now after so long. “Iggy, _please_ —!”

“Of course, darling,” Ignis whispers, the endearment slipping from his lips before he has the chance to truly _think_ about it—though he supposes it _fits_ just right with Noct under him writhing and panting—, and shuffles back to envelope the head of Noct’s cock with his lips.

There’s quite a bit of pre-ejaculation considering the drawn-out activities and so Ignis takes a moment to lap it all up—sweet, mostly, though with a tinge of saltiness; a sharp aftertaste, Ignis notes, just like before these long, dark years—, laves his tongue along the underside of Noct’s cock to catch the drips of it, kisses along the head again before sucking at the slit. He’s slow in his ministrations, echoing before, and Noct is squirming underneath him, hips bucking with an involuntary need, as he lets out gasps and moans and cries.

It doesn’t take long at all considering how wound up Noct is, how long he’s been _teased_ , and so as soon as Ignis takes him deeper into his mouth, Noct’s fisting the sheets, a soft thump following which Ignis presumes is his head being thrown back, and he’s crying out as he comes. Ignis swallows reflexively around his softening cock before bobbing slowly, drawing out the sensations for his king as much as possible, and palms at his own cock with a free hand listening to Noct’s moans.

A soft sigh leaves Ignis’ mouth as he absorbs the sounds of Noct falling apart by his _own_ ministrations. It's beautiful.  _Noct_ is beautiful. Would that he could _see_ it, see Noct come undone and unravelled by his touch. 

It's after the sound of a choked sob from likely over-stimulation that Ignis finally crawls up the bed to collapse beside Noct and listen to the sound of his breathing. Fast pants though they start to slow as a hand grips Ignis’ own; his king turns to him before slipping a knee in between Ignis’ thigh to shuffle closer. Quietly, Noct presses his forehead against Ignis’ own.

“After... after it’s all over,” Noct starts, quietly, “after it all ends, we’ll see each other again.”

Ignis closes his eyes. He doesn’t know if he can even _bear_ the ending. But he’ll do it. For Noct and the sacrifice he must make. For the regrets he has held until now and kept close to his heart.

Noct shifts before him, squeezing Ignis’ hand tighter in his own. “I’m giving my life for the gods. They’ll give this to me. They’ll give you to me.”

“You already have me,” Ignis breathes, and brings Noct’s hand up to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss. He hears Noct sigh.

“Not there. Not after,” Noct murmurs and he withdraws his hand. There’s a small moment of pause before lips press against his own, harder than anticipated, and he lets a small noise of desire be swallowed by the other. He hasn’t yet released, after all; his erection is still prominent, if somewhat flagging, between them. Noct lifts his thigh as little higher, leg just brushing against Ignis’ midsection, and already the advisor keens at the contact, bucking his hips forward to get more.

“Noct--,” he whispers, pulling back, but a hand curls around the nape of his neck before pulling him in for slower, deeper kisses. He moans helplessly against his king’s lips and starts to rut against the pressure of Noct’s thigh, chasing the release that’s been dangled since the start of this.

“I’ll have you,” Noct breathes out against his lips, and presses his mouth against Ignis’ nose, his jawline, the apple of his cheek. “After the end you’ll see me, Iggy. We’ll be together. They won’t deny us that. They _can’t_. Not after everything that’s happened.

“I wanted to s-save you,” Ignis gasps out, sorrow prickling at his eyes all of sudden despite the pleasure and Noct stiffens so briefly Ignis wonders if he imagines it.

“I know, Iggy,” Noct finally whispers against his lips, and meshes their lips together again. He’s breathing hard and Ignis tastes wet salt upon his tongue. “Gods, I know. And I know its selfish for me to ask you to stay behind—”

“I’d do anything for you,” Ignis responds immediately and Noct reaches between them. It takes a moment for them to readjust before he’s able to comfortably stroke Ignis and Ignis is a broken thing in his grasp, whimpering at the sensations as he jerks his hips erratically forward. “I-I _will_ do anything for you, Noct, _anything_ —"

“I know that too.” Noct’s kissing along the length of his jaw now, mouth slipping to the crook of his neck before biting hard. Ignis cries out at the pain that only enhances the pleasure and squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re so good, Iggy. You’ve always been so good to me. But I can’t repay it. Not now. All I can do is ask for you to keep going after I leave. You can do that. I know you can.”

“Yes,” Ignis chokes out, just as the pleasure builds to a crescendo, “yes, yes, anything, Noct, Majesty, _my king_ —!”

“So good, you’re so good, Specs.” Noct murmurs the praises against his pulse and lavishes deep kisses against his neck. He does something with his hand that makes Ignis see stars and he’s coming before he realizes it, gasping into Noct’s hair.

“Noct,” Ignis pants out, “Noct, Noct—”

“You’re so amazing,” Noct whispers and those words make Ignis’ cock twitch. He feels Noct’s hand give one last gentle touch before fingers swipe up the warm release. Ignis hears obscene sucking sounds and he gives a soft moan, wishing he could see Noct lap at his fingers.

But then Noct is pressing his lips to Ignis’ own, licking into his mouth, and Ignis can taste himself on his king’s tongue. He makes a noise, helpless before his own desire and utter _attraction_ for Noct and curls his fingers among dark strands. They kiss, slow and long, intimate in every way as their limbs entangle further together and, after what seems like _years_ , they separate.

“We’ll meet again,” Noct says, after a long, long moment. He’s gently carding fingers through the mess of Ignis’ hair and Ignis is rubbing circles into his hip. It’s peaceful. So peaceful. Ignis wants this to last. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“ _We’ll_ make sure of it,” Ignis utters quietly. Silence descends but it’s comfortable. So are the gentle ministrations of Noct’s fingers pressing against his temples. So is the warmth of Noct’s skin when Ignis lets his hand smooth over his spine.

He wants it to last. But then, he doesn’t remember falling asleep to the soothing strokes twixt his hair.

* * *

It’s something like despair and a quiet promise the last time they kiss.

Gladio and Prom give them a moment by the steps and Ignis knows he won’t get as much time as he wishes to in this final moment. He knows he won’t be able to say everything he wishes to say, everything he wishes to do. But then, he supposes that’s all to come in time. Like Noct has said.

And is promising, now, with a gentle press of his lips against Ignis’ own. It’s more chaste than he expects but he feels his heart swell with emotion. Hands itch to grip at Noct’s own and never let go but Ignis stays his desire. He’ll listen to his king. He’ll listen to his friend, his lover, his soul.

He’ll wait.

“Say you’ll be okay,” Noct says softly, a thumb tracing Ignis’ bottom lip.

Ignis exhales. Smiles. It’s the least he can do. It’s the least he _will_ do. “I will be okay, Noct.”

Noct lets out a breath like he’d been worried. “Okay,” he responds simply. Like there was nothing else to say. Like they’ll meet up again sooner rather than far later. Like they never said their goodbyes and I-love-yous just the night before.

He supposes this is all they have. Everything’s already been said and done.

Ignis watches him turn and walk up the steps. Ignis watches him walk inside to meet his fate.

He watches his world leave and thinks there’s something like a grotesque mixture of hope and despair curling up in his chest.

But he’ll wait.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me @fureyas on tumblr i need more ppl to cry abt ffxv to, esp ignoct.  
> even so pls leave a kudos + comment if you can!! i'd super appreciate it <3


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